


Wedding Weight

by pristinecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4586418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pristinecas/pseuds/pristinecas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's getting married. He and Cas are ecstatic about the wedding, but a trip to get their tuxedos fitted leaves Dean feeling insecure about his weight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding Weight

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to thedamwriter for being such a patient beta. You rule.

They were in a tuxedo shop. Of all the places Dean could’ve been on a Saturday afternoon, he was sitting in a _tuxedo shop_ surrounded by Vineyard Vines-clad, private schooled, vainglorious snobs. 

They’d scheduled a tuxedo fitting the day after their engagement. Castiel, being the efficient son of a bitch that he was, had made sure that they were squeezed into the shop’s already tight schedule, with a fancy private session at the perfectly reasonable hour of two o’clock. Dean had been reluctant to roll out of bed, until Cas had thrown the covers off of his body and hit him square in the face with a T-shirt and jeans. As if to compensate for making Dean leave the house before noon, his fiancé took him out to the nice burger place across the street, which lightened Dean’s spirits significantly. 

They were in the store now, a generous fifteen minutes early, having been greeted by a supercilious asshole at the front desk, who’d looked them up and down, smirking at Dean’s Zeppelin shirt and motor oil stained jeans. Cas, on the other hand, blended right in with the crowd, snappily dressed in khakis and a button-up. 

It was something that Dean had reflected on often; Castiel was the pride and joy, the genius, the _jewel_ of a rich family, having graduated from high school as valedictorian and class president, going on to get a PhD in Religious Studies at Duke. He was a theology professor now, with the big bad title of _Dr. Novak._ Here, in the pompous-asshole-filled overpriced tuxedo shop, he was surrounded by the kind of people he’d spent his entire life around. 

It was Dean’s weak spot. Dean’s life had been a polar opposite of Castiel’s. He’d grown up in a blue-collar neighborhood, barely passing classes through high school and attending the local community college, scraping by with a GED. In no way was he stupid; hell, he may as well have written the laws of physics himself. But he found out the hard way that trying to balance a day job and a high school career makes for a difficult time. Feeding Sam was more important, though, and Dean was willing to give up the opportunity to go to a big fancy school so that Sammy could go to Stanford. 

But now here he was, standing with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as Cas was getting measured, yellow tape strung around his waist. He was grumbling all the while, and Dean nodded and hummed and pretended he was listening to whatever Cas was saying.

“...And I told Gabriel that he and Kali would require an appointment with the travel agency if they wished to arrive early, since I already booked both of their plane tickets,” he rambled, and Dean made a low noise at the back of his throat, which he hoped came across as a sound of agreement rather than boredom. He really wanted to be interested, he did, but all of the wedding shit was such a drag. He wanted to marry Cas, period. None of the font picking, cake tasting, _tuxedo fitting_ nonsense. Well, maybe he could live with the cake tasting. Just maybe.

It felt like hours before it was his turn to walk up to the raised platform, his reflection staring back at him from five floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The attendant instantly began wrapping the measuring tape around his limbs and waist, and Dean’s brow creased as the tape tugged around his middle, and he sucked in his stomach a bit to let the device pull tighter. The man moved in fast circles around him, measuring every inch of his body and jotting notes on a clipboard. It was rather infuriating, being forced to stand and wait while Cas contentedly flipped through a Cosmopolitan. When the attendant finally waved him to go sit by his fiancé, Dean hastily rushed off of the platform, occupying the seat next to Cas. 

They were silent as Dean watched Castiel flip through page after page of the Cosmo, stopping to read when he came across an article delineating a wedding between two celebrities. 

“Ooh, Dean, look,” Cas sighed, pushing the magazine into Dean’s lap, still open to the page with a photo of a handsome man – probably the groom – wearing an expensive looking suit. Cas gestured to the photo, tracing his finger up and down the tuxedo. “Isn’t that nice?” Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, sure is. You wanna look for something like that?” Cas nodded enthusiastically, pulling the magazine back into his own hands, turning the page with new interest. Dean shook his head fondly. Anything Cas wanted to do was alright by him; he really had no preference concerning any of the wedding details.

When Annoying Tuxedo Guy – as Dean had named him in his head – returned, he carried several garment bags draped over his forearm, which he set on the back of a chair. 

“Mr. Novak, Mr. Winchester,” he nodded to each of them respectively, and they stood, Cas tossing the Cosmo aside. Annoying Tuxedo Guy moved to select two of the ten-some garment bags, handing one to Cas and one to Dean. Dean took the hook of his, peering at the label. His eyes widened at the price, but he reminded himself that Naomi Novak had offered to pay for all the large expenses. He guessed that included the tuxedos.

“Mr. Novak,” Annoying Tuxedo Guy began, addressing Cas, “these are from our Calvin Klein collection, and correlate with the specific preference you provided us with.”

Dean unzipped the bag slightly, chancing a peek at the black suit inside. It did look nice, he had to admit. He was almost excited to try it on.

Then Annoying Tuxedo Guy had to shatter the illusion of perfection. 

“If the size isn’t working, please tell us, and we’ll find you a different size. Mr. Novak, we’ve got you in a size 40R. Mr. Winchester, for you a size 43R.” Dean sucked in a breath. 43R? He didn’t know tuxedo sizes, but he did know that 43 was bigger than 40. He glanced at the mirror, wincing ever so slightly when he noticed the slight protrusion of his stomach. It was barely noticeable, but now that he was looking, he did have a little muffin-top action going on. He suddenly felt rather self-conscious, a problem he hadn’t faced since teenager days and acne. 

He looked over at Cas, who was now also curiously looking at the insides of his own garment bag, though apparently not sharing any similar worries about the sizing of his suit. Now that Dean was thinking about it, Cas was pretty fit. Like, really, _really_ fit. His whole body was lined with muscle, and Dean couldn’t recall a time where he had put on any weight that wasn’t healthy. 

Dean looked his fiancé up and down. Even with the snappy dress shirt in the way, Dean could see the absence of any stomach flab. He suddenly felt the need to escape the tuxedo shop, and go somewhere where he didn’t feel like three sizes was a thousand. Maybe if he hadn’t eaten that entire bacon cheeseburger for lunch....

He was snapped out of his thoughts as the two men in the room with him began to converse again, and then turned to him.

“Dean,” Cas said, looking up at him, “we should go try these on.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, coughing into a fist. He really didn’t want to anymore, but he reminded himself that today wasn’t about his issues, it was about the two of them finding the perfect outfits for their wedding. Dean moved to face Annoying Tuxedo Guy, who gave him a little smirk and waved a hand in the direction of the changing rooms. Trying not to think about how possibly unflattering the tuxedo could turn out to be, Dean began his march towards the rooms, Cas right behind him. As they moved away from the platform and those evil, evil mirrors, Dean brought up his concern.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked, stopping in front of the door to one of the fitting rooms.

“Yes?” Cas stood in front of him, arms crossed, garment bag hanging off of his wrist. “What is it?” Dean glanced around to make sure they were alone before continuing.

“I’m three sizes bigger than you,” he said, and Cas frowned.

“Yes, Dean, your height exceeds my own.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing to himself.

“Yeah, you’re right. You’re right.” But no matter how many times Dean said it, he still couldn’t help the feeling in his gut. 

 

~~~

 

The next day found Dean waking up alone, reaching for Castiel in the space next to him and finding nothing. In a brief instance of panic, he sat up straight in bed, before he heard the sound of footsteps, and the doorknob turning. Cas pushed the door open, and Dean’s mind calmed.

“Where’re you comin’ back from?” Dean slurred, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Cas sat at the foot of the bed, the springs groaning beneath him, and pulled a shoe off of his foot.

“Church,” he muttered, yanking off the second shoe. Dean frowned.

“You didn’t wake me up,” he said, and Cas gave him a _don’t kid me_ look.

“Dean, you hate going to church.” Dean made an indignant noise, face scrunching up in mock offense, scooting closer to Cas.

“Not true.”

“Very true.” Dean shrugged, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on Cas’s lips. When he pulled away, Cas was smiling wide, and Dean raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked, and Cas reached for a bag that Dean hadn’t seen him bring in, from which he withdrew a pie. An honest to God pie. Dean’s stomach fell. “Pie,” he commented blandly, and it was Cas’s turn to look skeptical. 

“Are you alright?” No, Dean was not alright. Here he was, realizing that he wasn’t anywhere near happy with his weight, and Cas has to come home with pie. Pie that smelled really fucking good. As much as Dean wants to eat the entire thing straight out of the box, he knows he shouldn’t, because the last thing he needs is to go up another suit size.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he lies, and throws Cas a nervous smile, which he responds to with a raised eyebrow. “Just not hungry right now, that’s all.” He slides out of bed to avoid any questioning, and he feels Cas’s eyes follow him as he walks up to the dresser and begins pulling clothes out of it. 

He felt kind of bad about it, really. Cas had gone to church without him, not waking him up because he knew how little he liked it. Then he makes the effort to get Dean pie, and he won’t even eat it. _It’s better this way,_ he tells himself, thinking maybe if he repeats it enough it’ll make more sense. _It’s better this way._

 

~~~

 

He’s been trying to diet. It’s hard, though, because Cas seems insistent on taking him to the greasiest, sugariest places in town, as if he knows what Dean’s trying to do and is spiting him. He gives in nearly every time, once the smell of bacon or apple pie filling is too much and he has to indulge. It’s terrible, because every time he feels guilty immediately afterwards, ending up standing on the bathroom scale. 

They’d been driving back from dinner one night when Dean saw it. There was an ad for the local gym posted on some wall, and it got him thinking. He’d never even been to a gym before, but clearly the whole not-eating-anything-greasy-or-sugary plan wasn’t panning out, and Dean felt like he was running out of options. 

They were lounging about the house one Wednesday afternoon, because Dean had gotten off work early and Castiel’s students were off on some school-required field trip without him. They sat on the couch, Netflix running in the background as they conversed, Cas’s arm around Dean’s shoulders. It was nearing 3 o’clock, and Dean had begun to shift under Cas’s touch. He was restless, and they’d been sitting for hours on end. It didn’t help that Dean was hungry, too. He’d only made half a sandwich for himself, while he watched Cas eat almost two BLT’s. It was pure suffering.

As the episode of Dr. Sexy they’d been watching came to a close, Dean stood up from the couch, earning a confused look from Castiel.

“Dean, where are you going?” Dean looked back at his fiancé, giving him a little shrug. He wasn’t going to lie to Cas, no matter how silly he felt.

“The gym,” he answered, moving towards the bedroom to change. He heard Cas’s incredulous _what?_ but didn’t feel like answering any questions. This was his issue, and hell if he was gonna impose it on Cas. He was content with keeping it his burden. Besides, he was used to doing things for other people. It was time he did something for himself.

But Cas caught up to him just as Dean entered the bedroom, crossing straight to the dresser to find something to wear. A hand on his shoulder alerted him to his presence.

“Dean, why are you going to the gym? You’ve never gone before,” Cas pointed out, and Dean gave a little sigh.

“What, I can’t try something new?” he huffed, turning his attention back to the task of sliding open wardrobe drawers and searching for exercise clothing he was sure he didn’t own. Maybe he could squeeze into a pair of Cas’s running shorts. Behind him, he heard Cas make a small noise of disbelief.

“Dean, I just don’t understand what suddenly prompted this,” he explained, and this time Dean didn’t even bother turning to face him.

“I’m just going to the gym, okay?”

When it was quiet, Dean realized how harsh it had come out. When he turned, it was almost as if something was missing from Castiel’s eyes. As if they were hollow, empty.

“Okay, then,” he whispered, spinning on his heel and leaving the room. Dean watched him go, suddenly feeling guilty. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, though, because even if he tried to apologize Cas would probably wave him off. He wouldn’t worry. Right now, he had himself to be concerned about.

 

~~~

 

When Dean got home, he felt strangely unsatisfied. He hadn’t found much to do when he was at the gym, but he didn’t expect the empty feeling hanging within him. He supposed it had something to do with the way he’d snapped at Cas, but he also knew it came as a result of what had gone on at the gym.

He’d tried to work out, but to no avail. It was too easy to give up. It had just made him hungry, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was running out of options, and it was making him crazy. Crazy enough to snap at his husband-to-be. 

When Dean pushed the front door open, he peered across the hallway into the living room, where he suspected Cas would be seated, but found nothing.

“Cas?” he called out, beginning to worry. He hoped that Cas hadn’t gone out angry at him. He hated upsetting him.

Dean paced down the hallway, pushing each door ajar and peering past the crack between wood and doorway to check for Cas. He passed through the kitchen – which he thought for sure would be the first place he’d find his fiancé – but found nothing and no one. It hadn’t even occurred to him to check the bedroom until he arrived at the door, gently turning the knob and opening the door. He winced as it creaked slightly, potentially announcing his arrival, but when the door was open fully, he saw a lump in the bedsheets, complete with a tuft of dark hair peaking out from the rim of the blankets. Dean smiled to himself, walking past the door and closing it on his way in. The sound made Castiel stir, and Dean smiled as he turned his head, exposing a face that showed nothing but pure bliss at finally getting to sleep after a hectic University week. 

As quietly as he could, Dean padded over to the bathroom, rinsing off in the shower and brushing his teeth with haste. It didn’t matter that it was early, because once Cas was asleep it was his cue to sleep, too. He didn’t feel the need to change any of their preexisting traditions just because they were having a bit of a fight.

_Was it a fight?_ Dean thought, feeling weak. He couldn’t remember a time where he and Castiel had ever really, truly _fought._ He knew this would blow over, just like any disagreement between couples.

It was with those thoughts that Dean made his way back into the bedroom, stripping down and pulling on the boxers and tee he’d set on top of the dresser that morning.  He treaded lightly to his side of the bed, lifting the corner of the heavy duvet, and sitting on the edge before throwing his legs over, effectively making his way under the covers to join the already sleeping man. The sheets were warm from Castiel’s body heat, and Dean nestled into the comfortable feeling, shifting closer to Cas to put his head on his shoulder. Cas was as warm as – if not warmer than – the bed, and Dean found himself nuzzling the fabric of Cas’s shirt, breathing in the scent of his cologne. As Dean stirred, he felt Castiel move too, rolling slightly so that Dean’s forehead was pressed up against his chest. Dean could hear his heartbeat, and it calmed Dean’s nerves considerably. 

“Dean?” Dean hummed in response, closing his eyes in the hope that sleep would overcome him very soon. Cas looped an arm around Dean’s waist, and he froze, because suddenly Cas’s hand was roaming in the middle of pudge central, even on his back. Dean really didn’t want to wiggle his way out of Castiel’s warm hold, where he felt safe and happy, but he also couldn’t let the hand on the small of his back stay there. He tore himself away, rolling onto his other side, with his back facing Cas. He heard a groan of displeasure from the man, and Dean wasn’t cold for very long, because Castiel was grappling for him with outstretched arms, pulling Dean’s back flush with his chest, and wrapping his arms around Dean’s middle. 

With a sharp intake of breath, Dean began to panic, going tense underneath Cas’s touch once more, making a fruitless effort to suck in his stomach some. He had failed. He had failed to fix himself, and now he would suffer the consequences, because he couldn’t fucking keep himself from Cas. 

“Dean?” Cas said again, his voice barely more than a mumble. Dean’s heart was pounding, and the sound of it crashed around in his ears, as he felt a lump rise in his throat. He squirmed again, crawling his way to the edge of his side of the bed, and this time Cas let up, letting Dean go. It was all he could do not to sob into his pillow as he felt Castiel’s grip disappear from his waist. 

It was silent for a moment, the only sound the bedsprings creaking slightly as Cas retreated to his own half of the bed. Dean’s fingers toyed with the edge of the duvet, a work of habit. He lied perfectly still, focusing all his attention on keeping the tears that were moments away from spilling from the corners of his eyes at bay. The silence was thick, heavy, until Cas’s voice cut through it. 

“Dean, I–” Cas stopped mid-sentence, and Dean heard a sigh, and all of a sudden it took every ounce of self control he possessed to not burst into tears right then and there. “Did I do something wrong?” Cas asked, and there was so much hurt in his voice that Dean turned onto his back and sat up, looking straight at his fiancé. Tears welled in the eyes looking back at him that usually held joy, or at most a stern glare, but never this much pain. Guilt dropped in Dean’s gut like a weight, seeing the state that Castiel was in. _Because of you,_ his mind helpfully reminded him, and he shook his head, putting his head in his hands. 

“No, Cas, it’s not you,” Dean said, and he winced at the way his voice cracked. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and when he lifted his head and opened his eyes, he saw that Cas, too, had sat up against the headboard, and was gingerly touching Dean, as though at any moment he could snap. As if he were a feral animal. When Dean didn’t push him off again, he put his other hand up to cup Dean’s jaw, stroking a thumb over his cheek lightly.

“What is it?” Castiel asked, and Dean sniffled, leaning into Cas’s touch. 

“I’m a fuck-up,” he said, casting his eyes to the ceiling so that he wouldn’t have to see Cas’s expression. “I’m a grease monkey with a GED, I can’t tell the fucking difference between a pinot noir and a merlot, and I‘m fucking fat,” Dean said, pinching his stomach to demonstrate. 

Two sturdy hands grabbed the sides of his face, pulling it down so that once again Dean was forced to meet Castiel’s eyes. Their gazes locked momentarily, before Cas pulled him in and kissed him. It was gentle, sweet even, innocent in the way that it lacked the roughness that often counted as a gateway to sex. It took Dean a moment to react, caught off guard by the sudden display of affection, but he reciprocated, moving against him, pulling away only to place a chaste peck on his lips, before resting their foreheads together. 

“Is that was this is about? You think you’re fat?” Castiel asked, and Dean’s breath hitched. He gave an infinitesimal nod, just enough that he knew the other man would feel it. He didn’t realize that he’d started crying until Cas’s thumbs were wiping tears from his cheeks, caressing the contours of his face with soft fingertips. “When did this start?”

“When w-we were out g-getting our tuxes,” Dean said, not finding any point in lying at this point. He’d already spilled everything. 

“Oh, Dean,” Cas said, “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel anything less than incredible, and priceless, and amazing.” Dean whimpered, wrapping his arms around Cas in a tight hug. Cas’s hands moved from Dean’s face, one finding purchase on the back of his neck, the other running up and down his back, coaxing every breath out of his lungs.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole,” Dean said, burying his face in Cas’s neck, this time with no intention of pushing him away. “I never meant to hurt you. You– God, Cas, you deserve fucking _everything._ ” 

“I have everything with you,” Cas said, “I love you, every inch of you, no matter what. Don’t let anything keep you from believing that. I love you, Dean Winchester, and I cannot wait to be married to such an extraordinary man. I love you, and I never want to hear you degrade yourself in such a manner again. Promise me.” Dean nodded against Castiel’s skin.

“Okay. Yeah.”

Cas pulled out of the hug, giving him one last kiss before sliding back underneath the covers, arms open, eyebrows raised in expectancy. Dean smiled, mind finally at ease, feeling _worth it_ for the first time since he’d stepped into that tuxedo shop. He curled up against Cas, and did nothing but smile contentedly when firm arms snaked around his waist once more.

 

~~~

 

If anyone asked Dean if he’d cried at his own wedding, he’d scoff and deny everything. In actuality, he’d barely managed to make it through his vows through all of his tears. It didn’t help that Cas was looking up at him with a sort of reverence the likes of which he’d never seen, the corners of his mouth turned up in a kind smile, even as Dean choked on his words and wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his tux. 

The reception was beautiful. It was Cas’s dream wedding, and since Dean had never really thought about marriage before Castiel, he’d had no prior expectations. He was sure, however, that their wedding topped all, because he was marrying the best man in the world – one who never gave him reason to doubt himself again. 


End file.
